Shaking but Steadfast, I Surrender

I am officially a traitor.

I am raising my white flag.

By penning this, I risk never being called a true Californian ever again.

Like a New Orleaner who knows where to get the best gumbo or a Seattlite who braves long lines for their favorite cup of java, your average Californian has a firm, assumed, incontestable allegiance to In-N-Out Burger.

In-N-Out is more than a chain of establishments all over California (and the surrounding southwestern US), all built in coastal white with streaks of red and yellow, where you can find cheerful clean-cut young- 20-somethings in starched white uniforms and red aprons flipping burger patties (they pay more than minimum wage, you know).


In all its retro-chic and greasy-clean glory, In-N-Out Burger is a beacon of simplicity in a world of change (unless you know the underground menu, then it gets complicated).

But I have seen the light.

And I'm not even a burger connoisseur. The fact I'm declaring my love for anything red-meat-related is groundbreaking.

But I have converted to a little slice of urban heaven known as SHAKE SHACK.

Located in the southeast corner of Madison Square Park, NYC (approximately 23rd and Madison). Just look for the DMV-long line.
You may be offered some moolah to hold a spot or take an order for someone.

Fresh ground beef. Soft and chewy. On a fresh, lightly toasted challah-brioche-like chewy bun, slightly sweet.

Shakes. Thick, creamy, flavorful, far from waxy.


Amazing. And there is a live Shack Cam to check line conditions. Because it's not an in and out experience here, and face it, we're on a New York minute!

Later this year, another Shack will open on 77th and Columbus.
I have never been so envious of the Upper West Side.

So, yes, call me what you want. But I will never live down my new love for Shake Shack.